


Cut my lip

by Yda



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: A bunch of Ravens OC along the way too, And I'll put appropriate warnings before each chapter, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, But I promise there'll be fluff and softness cause Jean deserve it, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I mean this is a raven fic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It will go from 6 months BK (Before Kevin Leaves) to the Trojans years, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Slow Burn, i'll add tags as i go, this is basically a Raven Jean fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yda/pseuds/Yda
Summary: Mid August. Thea graduated and Jean is left alone against an entire team down for blood, a Nest he will never escape and Riko fucking Moriyama. Add incompetent freshmen and a partner he doesn't know yet, and you have it : Jean's tenth year in hell.OR a Raven Jean fic built on "I want more women in Exy", "Jean deserves to be happy" and "Fuck yes Jeremy" featuring angst, overprotective partners, french bastards and recovery.
Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. Mama said, "Fuck 'em up"

**Author's Note:**

> Hi sunshines !!  
> So to preface a bit this story, this is gonna be a Long Ass Fic. When I say Long Ass I mean it starts before Kevin leaves the Nest, and I'll finish it at Jeremy's last year as a Trojan. I might (probably) will include some oneshots on their post-Uni life because I have tons of ideas, I've been working on this for several months now so they've grown a lot on me. My love for Jean is infinite.
> 
> First half will only be Ravens POV, Trojans will arrive waaay later ; depending on length I might just cut it into two parts and if so I'll edit tags. This will be (mostly) canon compliant, I added a few characters but the books still apply for almost everything.  
> There will be canon typical violence (includes some Nora's extra-content, you don't have to read it to get that fic though).  
> 1) I will put appropriate warnings before each chapter  
> 2) you can always hit me up on tumblr if you want to know more just in case (tumblr's youdrunkasshole).  
> I want very much Jean to be happy but I'll be honest, the Ravens part will be very dark sometimes. I want to show what it's like to be a survivor, so there will be traumas, codependency, protectiveness, recovery, softness too. I mean it's TFC, what else is new. 
> 
> This is a self indulgent fic but I also edit ten times one chapter so I will be a bit slow, I will do my best and I Will Finish This. I should be able to post once a week but no promises since again I edit/rewrite a lot. If I can I'll update more often. Also I'm new to this so if you have suggestions for the general presentation you can hit me up. 
> 
> Big shout out to Stjosten for cheering me up and giving me the strength to actually Post It (and actually Write It, not just in my head like I've always been). Hope you'll like it !
> 
> WARNINGS : Ravens typical violence on court, mentions of bullying  
> If you need more tags added, or have specific triggers I didn't think of, at any point any time let me know !! Don't want to trigger you cuties I know what it is okay, hit me up
> 
> OH AND I FORGOT : Cut my lip - Twenty One Pilots | That's it, that's the mood for this story, it just breaks my heart every time

Jean assessed his new opponents on court, a dangerous snarl on his face. As his mom taught him, first impression was key and he would make sure they would not forget who he was and who he was meant to be. He was number 3. Nobody would take it away from him, not when he had won this through blood, sweat and tears, and as hopeful or determined these freshmen were they would learn soon enough. Jean would make sure of it.

Next to him, Kevin studied them in silence and probably reviewed their overall statistics if the frown on his face was any indication. His attention lingered on numbers 24, 28 and 29 ; he didn't even realize it but it meant Jean would have to keep an eye on them specifically if he wanted to protect his rank.

It should be alright though, his main concern was who his partner would be anyway. He had appreciated being Thea's : she was ruthless, unforgiving, incredibly talented and a decent human being with good communication skills. They worked well as a backliner duo, enough that it spared Jean some unnecessary trouble and he had been thankful for it. There was no such thing as hope at the Nest but he still hoped that he would be partnered to Imani, dealer number 11, harsh, hard-working, not violent off court and good in bed ; or Jenkins, a bad bitch with a sly tongue but not a cruel heart. These two would be acceptable. He would feel lucky even.

So of course he got paired up to a fucking useless freshman who would make his life so much more miserable. What did he ever do to deserve this? For real though, freshmen were the worst : they were naive, hopeful, messy and unskilled and it took years before they shaped any sort of talent, months before they got crushed by the oppressive mentality of Ravens. Jean would pay dearly for the slightest newbie's mistake and Riko was literally glowing at his side in anticipation. He hoped his glare conveyed how much he hated that damn 24 already, even if she seemed absolutely unimpressed as she leveled him up and down. In no way would he pay for another's mistake, he had enough as it was. He would be unforgiving.

-

Jean stood upright next to his dresser, hands joined in front of him. Waiting. 24 was assessing their room and Jean quietly observed her. She didn't look like much apart from exhausted or jetlagged and he hadn't bothered to ask what role she was. A dealer would be the most probable, he had a good head on her and tiny sly dealers were a pain in the ass to catch on court, perfect to throw balls from the backline to strikers without being intercepted by the opposite team. Though she'd lack height to better visualize the game. Or a goalie maybe.

He'd listed every rule she'd have to follow - Be perfect on Court, show respect, bow to the Master, do as they say, don't discuss, don't protest, don't talk back, don't be late, don't do anything that could put the Master or Riko's wrath on you, don't trust anyone, don't go anywhere alone, never miss practice, fight for yourself, and never fuck up because your failure will be mine - and she had only listened before turning her attention back on said room. At least she wouldn't bother him with too much babbling like Jenkins, he figured.

"Don't be human then," she finally summed up and Jean was almost surprised to hear her flat voice. He only shrugged back. "No separate bedrooms then ?"  
"No."  
"Shouldn't I be with women ?"  
"It is pairs as in two. You're three."  
"I don't like men."  
"And I don't like freshmen. Next question."  
"I'll just ask your captain if I can change," she made to turn back towards the door but Jean blocked immediately her path.  
"I said," he hissed, "do not bring Riko's wrath on yourself."

She cocked her head to the side, brows furrowed then raised in a question mark. Jean would not give anything, but whatever she saw on his face must have been convincing enough since she went to unpack her luggage with a deep, resigned sigh.

"You're not as scary as you think you are", she figured he had to know.  
"I don't care." He informed her, petulant. "Don't make my life more difficult."

She only made a blah blah blah motion without even turning back to him. Off to a great start.

-

The year's first training went as well as one could expect, which was downright terrible. Bullying freshmen was Ravens tradition : from illegal checks on court to perpetual harassment on and off it, they did everything to make newbies give up. The ones who broke left early and dropped their numbers, those who resisted would perpetuate the same shit next year to keep a high number they'd won so hardly. Every highly competitive field functioned that way, from the Army to medicine studies back in France, and the Ravens were no different.

Jean never bothered to participate : he worried enough for himself as it was so he wasted no energy in bullying or helping anyone and remained his merciless equal self on court instead. It even gave him kind of a break which was a welcome change. Still, he winced internally when 24 got crushed into plexiglass for the fifth time in an hour, first because his ribs had cracked more than once with that bullshit and because it meant 24 would bring him even more problems by failing so pathetically. Jean was so done with the day already. He had eyerolled and watched her stand back up on her own the four previous times, but she was currently stumbling and whipping her bloody nose with a shaky hand so he went her way instead.

"Thanks," she breathed as she grabbed his hand and he pulled her back on her feet. "What's his name so I can fuck him up," she growled and picked her racket.  
He huffed. "Before considering a fight learn how to dodge 24."  
"My name is Astrid," she spat.  
"I don't care. Stop talking and start playing like you actually know the damn game."

He didn't give her time to insult him as he left. As surprising as it was, she was a backliner and got mercilessly rolled over by everyone else. Not that she was entirely incompetent - she did notice that 5'8" Jay always dodged left and crushed the equivalent of twice her weight on the ground, after all - but she was almost 5'5" next to Jean's 6'2" so of course they'd come at the shrimp instead. Other teams often did the same mistake when he used to be with Thea, they overlooked her as a woman and picked her as the easy target - until she cracked ribs and wrecked kneecaps, that was. Still Muldani was 6' so she also towered over most people already, whereas Astrid would struggle towering even Riko if Jean was being honest.

The day ended quite brutally with 27's potential cracked ribs, 29's black out and Astrid puking her guts out from a concussion after Williams knocked the shit out of her, again. Jean had also suspected the beginning of a panic attack but he did not mention it. He waited in silence as Astrid wheezed above the toilets and he moved around when she went to the sink to rinse her mouth. 26 and 28 being the most pathetic out of the freshmen (and also being the only functioning ones left), they were on cleaning duty so Jean had brought his new partner earlier in the girls' changing rooms. She groaned in pain as she rose up and leaned a hand on the wall, so Jean hollowed on her left just in case.

"Shower ?" He reminded her.  
"Nooo. Not here," she complained. "The dorms. I need to. Lay down. Oh god."

Astrid dropped her forehead against the cold, black tiles of the changing room and let out a pained sigh. She just needed a moment. Then she could steel herself and walk back right ? Right.

"Look at me." Jean demanded.

She grumbled but obeyed and Jean checked her pupils. He hummed.

"Your concussion is not that bad. Should be gone by tomorrow. Hurry I want to sleep."  
"Fuck off. Just leave I'll manage."  
"Don't go anywhere alone," Jean sourly repeated.

She huffed and started walking with a hand against the wall for balance so Jean followed. They met several players on their way out to the dorms, which Jean entirely ignored. Or feigned to, anyway. He spotted Jenkins snapping at her freshman - the third and last girl of the team - to hurry the fuck up and stop complaining about a damn limp. Some of them threw nasty jabs to the newbies but Jean didn't care enough to listen. He still caught Williams' intent stare though, on Mazzira? Maria? Before his attention fell on Astrid. Jean had to force his jaw not to crack under the pressure. That gaze meant fresh meat and when Williams focused on him with a sly smirk, Jean wanted to puke. He moved to his partner's side instead.

-

"There is no lock," Astrid highlighted dumbfounded.

Jean took in the closed door she stood in front of. Every single day since he arrived at the Nest, he'd wished for a lock to magically appear on that damn door, something that could effectively protect him from Riko and let him sleep. It never came. So he learnt to sleep without any safety net and sucked it up like everything else in that damn place.

"No." His voice sounded more bitter than first intended.  
"I'm not sleeping without a lock."

He didn't have any patience or energy left for another argument tonight. And he couldn't change it anyway.

"Don't sleep then. Goodnight."

There was no sound for an entire minute until he heard the soft ruffle of fabric and a quiet, resigned sigh. Jean didn't really feel bad about it. She'd have to suck it up like everyone else. Again, he didn't care.


	2. Three little pigs and a big bad wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I struggled A Lot with this one but I also had a blast so I'm throwing a chapter twice bigger at you cheh. Say Hello to Kevin ! And Fuck off to that Riko bitch
> 
> Warnings for this chapter : some swearing, mention of scars, and one (1) rough beating

Jean did care though as Astrid let yet again Kevin pass defense and score against them. 

"What are you _doing,_ " Jean grabbed her by her collar. "Get a fucking grip." He hissed. 

"I'm doing what I can," she spat. "With no sleep, sore ribs and rude assholes. Don't touch me." She smacked his hand away. 

"I don't care about your pathetic excuses and Riko won't either. Just _stop them_." 

"Help me," she shot back. "You know how they work, give me tips instead of doing literally nothing next to me." 

"I don't -" 

"Help me or shut up. I can be a bitch too," she snarled in his face before walking back to her position. 

Jean wanted to smash her head against the plexiglass himself. She'd been insufferable for three days in a row and he wondered how they'd not been the ones on cleaning duty yet. She lacked aim and what she made up in reflexes, flexibility and brute force she lost in dodging and footwork. They also hadn't exchanged one word since her arrival : they woke up, had breakfast in sullen silence with or without Riko and Kevin, then either parted or teamed up for training matches depending on their groups. Sometimes one group would remain to the sideline to observe and review later said match, sometimes they ended on the same backline but even then the only interaction was Jean telling her how much she sucked. Which, sure, was not the best start, but it also was the truth. Jean didn't bother losing time with idle niceties, 3 meant efficiency after all.

So when Kevin threw him a questioning glance, Jean only massaged his temple and waved him off since practice resumed. The next time Engle went for the goal and dutifully ignored Jean, Astrid came out of nowhere and smashed him so violently she probably hurt herself too. She didn't even spare a glance to the newly concussed striker who left the court limping. Instead that little shit chose to go back to her position with a defiant raised chin, cocky eyebrow and death glare that never left Jean's face, until he decided himself to put an end to that childish duel and focused back on the game. Here, you had it. A perfect summary of that delightful attitude he had to endure. Jean didn't even know if he prefered when she actually shut the fuck up or when she didn't ; in fact, he just prefered Thea. Astrid finally started to care about the game though so Jean figured pissing her off had been useful at least. 

\--

They ate lunch in heavy silence in the cafeteria. Astrid would not interact except for death match stares, and it was fine by Jean. He was used to it. Kevin and Riko were nowhere in sight, meaning Riko was either busy with the Master or planning his next shitshow with Kevin hovering behind him and Jean appreciated the break on that part at least. He would probably regret it later though. 

It meant that he had nobody but a fuming brat in front of him to deal with. She currently was munching her vegetables with a sharp jaw and an angry frown on her face as if her broccoli had personally offended her. She was also throwing mental daggers to some Ravens somewhere on the other side of the room, if her burning scowl was any indication. Jean didn't care enough to actually look back at who it was, but he'd bet on Austin probably : he'd ran into her in an obvious attempt to hurt which resulted in an elbow induced black eye slowly blooming on her face and Astrid favoring her left side since then. In all honesty, her own personal tantrum on Engle sure hadn't helped on that last part but who was Jean to judge, right ? 

She raised a blatant middle finger which triggered a vitriolic "Fuck off dumb bitch" and yup. Definitely Austin. 

"Do you live to antagonize everyone?" He felt he needed to ask in a bored tone. He didn't really expect an answer though. 

" _Fight for yourself,_ wasn't it? They'll regret ever thinking I'm fair game." She clicked her tongue at that, then continued with a scornful voice. "You're not a model of friendship either, nobody talks to you. What did you do?" 

It was something she had noticed pretty quickly : nobody seemed to like him as he got only glares or demeaning ups-and-downs sent his way. No talking, no nodding, barely any interaction even on court and well, okay, he was an asshole and every Raven sounded like dickheads towards each other but still. There was a different sense of separation, of ostracization that only seemed to apply to Jean. Even Riko and Kevin who acted like a two headed hydra did have some sort of exchange with others, even if it was just them reciting an essay on how bad you sucked at the game for the sake of improvement. 

"Like, what's up with them?" She nodded to a group of three in particular since she was met with silence. 

Jean scowled and took in the few Ravens she was pointing at with her chin. It was 21, 19 and 23 - they were so useless they didn't even deserve the damn effort to actually remember their names. Jean almost ignored the jab, but Astrid's intent stare somehow gave him the feeling she wouldn't drop that one. 

"I am number 3." He half shrugged, as if it made any sense.

"And ?"

"They want it. 1 and 2 are too out of reach so they feel like they can beat me." He huffed petulantly. 

Astrid frowned at that. He knew venom would come eventually so he waited in silence with a raised chin, daring her to spit it out. 

"But they can't," she said simply. 

"What do you mean." 

"I mean that you are an asshole. But the gap's insane. They just won't."

Jean was frankly taken aback by that one. 

"I can hate you and still recognize your talent, don't look at me like that," Astrid eyerolled. "Just take it, I won't say it twice." 

She went back to eating vegetables she clearly despised as if praising someone like this had cost her absolutely nothing. As if it was a normal non-event, keep moving there's nothing to see here. If Jean dwelled on it to secretly savor it, nobody had to know. 

"What about you?" He ended up asking, surprising both of them. 

"Me what?" 

"You said they. I ask you." 

"Oh." Amber focused on grey then the ink on his cheek. "Well it sure would be annoying to get rid of that." Astrid shrugged. "I'll be 4 then." 

"You want to be 4." Jean raised an eyebrow and eyed her up and down. 

"Problem?" 

"You cannot be."

"Cause I'm a woman?" The bubble popped and Astrid's teeth were back full force. "Or cause I'm small? You'd be surprised." 

"I do not care about that, you are just not - family." A possession. He meant a possession. 

His plate was very interesting all of a sudden, and he ignored the ping of jealousy at being reminded how chained he would always be. He observed his crooked fingers. Ghost pains reappeared sometimes, if he remembered too much. Her freedom would never get her inked with a 4, but technically she could still aim for number 10 : with no one between Jean and other Ravens, that would still make her the fourth best player on their team. A win-win situation in Jean's opinion, all things considered. 

"Ah yeah, the Jonas Brothers. I forgot." She huffed. " _Men_."

Jean didn't understand but he didn't mention it. 

"You can't even stay on your feet. Thea is way better and only 14." He stated coldly instead.

" _Was_." Astrid corrected. "Just need to get back in shape. I'm not saying 4 _now_."

"Sure." He rolled his eyes for good measure before landing three energy bars on her plate. "Learn how to have a proper meal first. You look like you forgot to eat your vegetables." He deadpanned.

"Fuck you," She glowered. 

And that was that, they didn't feel like talking anymore. 

\--

"Again," Jean ordered. 

Astrid swore under her breath but complied. They'd been repeating the same drill for hours now, and Astrid's arms were about to blow up. A Raven was supposed to hit all cones in whatever order got spelled out, which was incredibly effective and smart but also so so hard to succeed. Plus Tetsuji had assigned everyone their new racket which basically consisted on being the longest and heaviest allowed for every player's height and role : this meant more strength needed to use it, but the resulting shots were much more powerful that way. It was incredible. Astrid lowkey felt like Beyoncé - ready to wreck everything with her baseball bat. She knew that once she mastered everything she would be an absolute fury on court, but for now it felt like an impossible task. 

And god did it hurt. Her body hurt _everywhere_. She thought that a few months to heal would be enough to get back to work but Astrid realized she had been greatly mistaken. Blisters sprinkled her hands, permanent cramps constrained her legs and arms, her sore ribs screamed _we're begging you to calm the fuck down bitch_ and, worst part, her stomach felt like being torn apart again. So when she missed the second cone for what felt like the hundredth time, Astrid just gave up. 

"Your turn," she panted. "I can't anymore." 

She let her racquet drop on the floor as she leant on her knees to breathe, dark hair all over her face. She expected another acidic sneer and she readied herself for a fight but Jean only nodded and got into position, allowing her a much needed break. She used it to look around and have an idea on how well others were doing. You could spit on them all you wanted, Ravens were impressive in their excellence : there was no room for doubt, only improvement. The only failures currently were freshmen, herself included, but she didn't seem to be the farthest behind so it was fine by her. Astrid was highly competitive but she had also forcefully learnt to indulge and give her body a break sometimes. Mazzira was running around after her missed balls under Jenkins' pitiful stare, Thomas and Lorenzo seemed two seconds away from passing out and she couldn't even spot the two last newbies. Astrid exhaled heavily and wiped some sweat off her forehead with her jersey.

"You would cool off quicker without a black turtleneck under your shirt," Jean offered without looking at her. 

Astrid slowly raised an eyebrow at that but since he wouldn't stare back, she would go at him instead. 

"Did I ask for your opinion on my outfit?" 

Jean stopped in his tracks. He frowned, balanced his racket in his hand before turning back to her. 

"I did not mean it like that." He acknowledged and bent down to adjust a fallen cone, careful with words. "I meant it must be impractical and warmer to exercise with this as a tool, it was not." His eyebrows deepened. "A judgment. On clothing." 

"Okay." Astrid stood up and tied her dark hair in a loose bun, showing buzzed sides and an undercut Jean hadn't noticed before. "I don't feel comfortable showing my arms. Or the rest. Even though you're right and I'll probably end up without it at some point. " She shrugged. 

Jean thought about it. He wondered if he was comfortable not having privacy, if he was with blatant stares all over his scars but he figured he never had a choice about that anyway so he hadn't really considered it. He had scars, and yes everyone could see them in the lockers or while training, but first they didn't really care enough to pry and second he cared even less about their opinions. His real problem was the existence of said wounds in the first place. And of Riko Moriyama. 

"I understand." Jean grabbed a ball and made it rebound a few times. "There is not much privacy here so we tend to forget modesty. May you call the shots?" 

Astrid nodded. At first she didn't give it much attention, claimed numbers randomly as she inspected the giant purplish bruise blooming on her thigh, just under the line of her shorts. Being a high level athlete and an ex-fighter, she was used to huge black and blues so she didn't dwell much on it. She even prized them, like a sort of reward proving she had actually accomplished something and her success got written all over her skin. It was similar to finishing a canvas or your last hair dye and having paint smudged all over your hands as a result. Very satisfying. That one said that she was training her hardest to become a stronger version of herself, as a player and a person. It was a chosen one. 

After the sixth shot and still no break Astrid perked up though, to realize that Jean hadn't missed one yet. She tried to make it harder : she called cones that were far off each other, ones that needed almost impossible U-turns or wrist flexibility and that, faster and faster. He dodged, he swung one way then the other, stopped mid track to hit back, never complained, never huffed, never sneered. 

That. Fucker. Landed. Each. One. 

That was infuriating, to the point that Astrid stopped calling shots before he stopped hitting them back. She'd climb back to that level. No matter what. 

\--

"You fail because you're too slow," Kevin said. " _Look_ at the cone you want to hit and make a longer arc with your arm for momentum. Also your footwork is terrible, you can't dodge and sidestep with that, I am surprised you didn't trip on your own feet yet." 

The three of them were sitting at the farthest table for what was a rather heated dinner. Astrid eyerolled at that but still took every advice, Jean could tell from her intent gaze. 

"Also you're utterly pathetic on court, do you even open your eyes or something? You didn't stop me once." Kevin blamed. 

"Dude everyone's on me I try my best," Astrid sighed. 

"Of course they are, you're inexperienced and short why even bother against Jean? Every team will think like this." 

"You do realize I wouldn't be here if I was that shitty right? Obviously I have to learn your methods but please, it's not like I've never played Exy or national matches and won, I actually know how to hold my ground against bigger opponents. Don't be insulting."

"I saw your footages against UK, this is why I do not understand how you are so bad now when in your matches strikers obviously struggled to get through your line. Though they clearly were underskilled compared to Ravens but still, I don't get it."

"Underskilled," Astrid repeated with big eyes. "Are you talking about that British striker Oliver? He literally is one of the best EU strikers and he _apologized_ to me when I fell on my butt after he pushed me! In selection rounds I wrecked him against plexiglass so hard he got a concussion but he still apologized to me in finals for a butt landing that didn't even bruise. Don't disrespect us, he's not underskilled I just worked my ass off to beat him."

"He was not good enough to dodge you apparently." He highlighted petulantly. "Which I did. So either he's terrible or you lost technique." 

"Oliver. Is. Perfectly. Fine." Astrid articulated with heat. "I got injured and stopped playing for six months so I have to catch up, is all. Feeling better now or do you also need the entire backstory?" She sneered. "Honestly I'd rather team up with him, you're such an asshole. I can't wait to see the day you'll get off your mighty high horse, I swear you gonna fall _hard_. Jean, did you watch the match? Did Oliver or I suck, seriously?" Astrid asked in disbelief. 

"I haven't." Jean answered. 

Which was weird by the way now that he thought about it, especially as Kevin blushed and dutifully avoided eye contact all of a sudden. 

"When did you watch that one?" Jean pried. "I only saw the selections with you." 

"Oh. Hum. The Master showed us earlier." Kevin focused on his plate as if it held the secrets of the universe and picked a piece of meat. 

Hence why Riko and Kevin hadn't eaten with them for lunch. Something definitely was up, Jean realized. He had been right : Riko never backed off for so many time, even if freshmen busied the entire team. There was something else. 

"What is it," Jean glowered. "Kevin. What is it. I want to know." 

"I'm not sure," Kevin glanced at Astrid who raised an eyebrow. 

"What's up?" Astrid asked. 

When Kevin didn't answer, Jean gave up. He clenched his teeth. 

"Don't anger Riko," Jean ordered instead. 

"What's your obsession with him seriously," Astrid groaned. " _Fine_." 

\--

Jean got it in the end. He got the answer he wanted when they fell face to face with Riko waiting for them in Jean's room ; when with the sick grin Jean had learnt to fear most, Riko gripped Astrid's collar and smacked her against the door so violently she let out a surprised yelp of pain. 

"I've got good news today," Riko sneered in her face. 

"Back off," Astrid spat as she knocked an elbow under his chin and his jaw flapped. "Who the fuck do you think you are," she snarled and pushed him away. 

If Riko had been half amused now he was downright murderous. His eyes glinted with mischief and his smile widened. He caught her hair before she could react and smashed her against the wall twice for good measure, ignoring Astrid's yells to let her go. Jean winced, clenched his teeth. Didn't move.

"I am your King," he hissed in her ear. "You will learn soon enough, _property_."

Riko dropped her hard enough she stumbled and had to rely on the wall not to fall. 

"You," Riko growled and pointed a finger in Jean's face. "Teach her the rules. No mistake, or else." He threatened. "Do what you want with her I don't give a shit." 

Jean bowed but did not reply, too caught up in what had just happened. His heart beat so hard against his own chest that he feared Riko would hear it and rough him up as well. His fingers twitched, he was terrified. Riko did not wait for him to talk though, he turned away while massaging his jaw. As he moved past Astrid who was struggling to keep her balance, he raised his fist and swang it so hard her head banged once more against the wall. He didn't even stop or look behind him, only slammed the door on his way out instead. 

What the fuck. _What the fuck_. Jean heard Astrid groan in pain and rushed her way but she held a warning palm that made him stop dead in his tracks. She tried to check her head but hissed at the barest touch, then slid along the wall and raised a trembling hand to her bloody nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. That was pretty much useless. Her vision blurred, but she would not cry.

"What do you need?" He asked in a low voice. 

Astrid closed her eyes, drained. He didn't think she would actually answer, but after a minute she moved her other hand in a quick motion near her throat and sighed in defeat. Ah. She couldn't talk. In fact Jean could hear her shallow breathing and it dawned on him - she was fighting off a panic attack. Okay, valid. He left for the bathroom and came back with a clean towel and a water bottle he slid her way, careful in every move. If he remained a few minutes in there to allow more privacy, well, nobody would notice anyway. 

He sat down on his bed and waited, an exhausted hand running through his hair. He was so done with this place. Her breathing had come back to normal and Astrid stared at the ceiling, a hand over her abdomen. 

"I told you not to anger him," he whispered.

It was the final blow. Astrid huffed. 

"You just _watched._ " She said, resigned. He did. He focused on his hands, on his crooked, calloused fingers. Kevin had watched too. "No matter how well behaved you are, you always loose with these men anyway. Fuck, and I chose this."

And weirdly enough, she started laughing. Just a snicker at first, but it grew and grew to an almost hysterical, broken laughter that left her breathless. Then she stared right back at him with her bloody nose and wild grin. 

"Problem solved, Moreau." She raised a challenging eyebrow. "Guess I'm family enough now, right?" 

They were utterly fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that's what we call a bad week  
> I love Kevin okay I swear, we'll have more of him  
> Also, we're starting to get into it babes ! I actually had to replan the entire Ravens timeline since I was lost in my 2000000 oneshots, it should be less messy now
> 
> You can scream at me on my Tumblr @youdrunkasshole !  
> 


	3. Heavy fists, bare teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI CUTIES sooo I'm two days behind but 4300 WORDS CAN YOU BELIEVE ? I considered cutting it in two parts but honestly, it felt weird, so I'm throwing the entire cake at you  
> Also I've reread this like 1000 times so I'm kinda Done with it, I need to move on (and actually work)  
> Say Hi to Kevin and to your local fuckgurl Brooke Jenkins
> 
> TW for this chapter : scars and bruises, allusion to past child abuse, canon-typical violence

Jean's arms pinged a bit as he stirred, but the pain was light enough that he deemed it as irrelevant. He was more bothered by his tiredness - nightmares had crept their way twice in one night and the third time he woke up had been Astrid's fault. She'd roused in a ragged gasp and Jean being the lightest sleeper on Earth he'd jumped awake too. He'd dreamt of a bloody grin, of losing his number thus dying so if Astrid had had horrifying nightmares too then Jean was satisfied. It was only fair after all. 

He needed to talk to Kevin. He needed answers and Astrid had given him none : she'd stood up, showered and went to bed without a word. Endearing. Jean sighed - this would be another terrible day. As he stood up, Astrid's muffled complaint asked him to turn his alarm off but he dutifully ignored her and went to shower instead. They could not afford to be late and if that allowed some pettiness on his part, that was even better. 

\---

Ravens slowly crowded the cafeteria and as expected, Kevin dutifully sat on their table, the Perfect Court one. As soon as he caught Jean he visibly drowned in relief - it was in his now relaxed shoulders, his hopeful stance and anxious stare. 

"I'll go ahead," Jean warned Astrid. 

She didn't even spare him a glance or an answer, kept picking fruits on the rack instead. _Fine_. 

"Are you okay?" A pale Kevin asked as Jean sat down. 

Some things never changed. Jean looked around and spotted Riko further behind with two other Ravens ; his civil face could almost fool everyone but Jean was observant enough. Still it gave him a few minutes to talk so he would go right to the point, and if Jean dwelled on the bruise under his chin to secretly savor it, he didn't mention it. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jean focused back on his friend. 

Kevin avoided his piercing stare, inspecting his face for any injury instead. Riko usually didn't make them visible though, and they both knew it. 

"Kevin." 

"I didn't know," he dropped his gaze and picked his apple unconsciously. "I knew it was about her but nothing more." 

"So what, she's like us now?" 

"I think but. It's weird. I don't know."

"We don't have all night," Jean hissed. 

"Riko didn't know until yesterday," Kevin whispered. "You know him, if he had, he would have gushed about it from day one. But he didn't." 

"But the Master paired her to me." 

"Yes. The Master was aware but told Riko only yesterday when he started poking at it, that's it. Did she explain anything?" 

Jean huffed at that. "No, she's pissed off and giving me the silent treatment." 

"What happened?" 

Jean didn't have time to answer as Astrid let drop her tray in a loud thud next to him. Kevin startled and caught on her black eye and the huge purple bruise across her face. It was quite impossible to miss and if Kevin had been pale before, he was downright livid. Astrid ignored it entirely to munch on apricots and glare at the wall in front of her. Jean eyerolled, Kevin averted his gaze once more. 

"So, hum. Thea texted me," Kevin tried after a moment. "She seems to settle in her team but it's tough because they are lazy and lack discipline so. She's a bit lost. She told me she missed her partner."

He smiled at Jean at that - not the press one, the one who was a straight line except for the left corner of his lips that twitched. No matter the heavy past, that one would always feel special to Jean, so he nodded back. 

"I miss her too," he admitted. He could hear Astrid huff on his left but since she didn't address it Jean wouldn't either. "Do you still have Astrid's recordings?" 

She perked up at that and threw him a questioning glance. 

"I need to gauge your strengths and weaknesses at your best if we have to hold the backline," he explained. 

Kevin nodded. "Yes I ha-" 

"What do you have?" Riko cut in, a wicked grin splitting his face. 

He dropped on the chair in front of Astrid and seemed to relish in the bruises on her face. She recoiled the slightest bit, but only Jean caught it. Riko's smile widened until she pointedly focused on the colorful mark under his chin and Kevin jumped on the opportunity to offer a diversion before it could escalate. 

"Astrid's recordings of her games. Jean asked if he could study them to allow improvements." 

"Why not. You'll do it after practice. I expect fast results, attitude included. I hope last night gave you some wise advice," he warned towards her as he stole her last apricot. 

Astrid's jaw worked minutely and Jean just knew it : she was about to say something very stupid. He didn't think and moved faster, clenched a warning hand around her knee. She tried to jerk away and in a second he had a finger bent backwards almost at breaking point. Jean didn't have a choice though, he tried to ignore the spike of pain and panic coming at his throat. 

"Did you lose your tongue?" Riko gushed from the other side of the table. 

Astrid did not bite back - to caught up in ringing ears, her panicked heartbeat and crawling skin. Jean gripped harder and it felt like the blade of a knife slowly slicing through raw meat - she had to check her stomach with a shaky hand to be sure she wasn't bleeding. Kevin seemed scared and focused back and forth between the two of them - he feared that she'd further anger Riko, he feared for Jean and his clenched jaw, he feared for the hand he could not see. Amber and black eyes were having a duel and it was as terrifying as a fight between fire and gasoline - it could blow up at any moment. 

It didn't though. After several taunts with no answer, Riko took their silence as a win and radiated in victory. He stood up and barked to Kevin to be faster, they had scrimmages to attend to. Jean let go of Astrid's knee in a hurry as if it had physically burnt him and he inspected his middle finger cautiously, flexed it once or twice. He knew it wasn't broken, but it had been close enough and he needed the reassurance. He should have been angry - and he was, in a way - but he was mostly floored with relief if he had to be honest : he didn't really feel like starting the year with wrecked bones. He sneaked a glance on his left. Astrid's fists were shaking slightly and she glared at the wall in front of her. Then she focused back on him with the same murderous expression. He expected her to scream at him - she was literally glowing in fury, fists, jaw and brow tight. 

"You would have made things worse," he justified, because he had done the right thing. 

Her eyes widened and he _knew_ it was the last straw. Regardless of the face, Violence always looked the same. She stood up, raised her fist, took an impressive swing and when Jean braced himself for the hit her fist crashed against the wood table, pinning him with her stare as she loomed over. He felt tiny. Astrid squinted her eyes with a snarl and got this look on her face that swore "You are a fucking asshole and I hate you" without actually saying "You are a fucking asshole and I hate you". Then she stormed off, leaving him to deal with their forgotten strays. The wood had cracked, and his fingers had been an inch from it. It hadn't been a miss. 

\---

Jean teamed up with Jenkins for the day's work, first because they needed to train on the most advanced drills and he couldn't with a rookie ; but mostly because said rookie did not seem like forgiving him anytime soon. He also didn't need another little shit to use him as a punching bag, either.

"Okay pretty boy, catch me if you can," Brooke taunted. 

Jean huffed but complied - he won most of the time anyway. The goal was to stop her from scoring, no matter what. It was an exercise for duos - either striker/backliner, striker/dealer or dealer/backliner. Offense and defense. It was not an easy task, Jenkins truly was a sly bitch both on and off court, always ready to piss off and start a fight, but that was why Jean could tolerate her and why she was interesting to play against as well. Being 5'8" she was shorter than Kevin but she was still fast and sneaky enough to be a _very_ bothering striker : when Kevin smoothly avoided opponents, Jenkins' favorite tactic was to rush into them at the last moment to throw them off balance and make way to the other striker. Brutal and very effective. 

"Such a shame we ain't partners," she complained. "Would have been fun. Fight on day, fuck at night. No logistics whatsoever to meet up." She sighed. "Later tonight?" She asked between shots.

Jean didn't really consider it but he still appreciated the idea. It could have been nice. 

"Not today," he settled on. 

"Even a quickie? We throw the rookies in kindergarten or something." 

"No." 

"Sadness," Brooke pouted but didn't push. 

She never did. She went to pick their ball a few meters away and took advantage of the break to tie her brown hair in a long braid. "The Lara Croft haircut" she named it, whoever that woman was. 

"Is Kevin moping all over the floor over Thea yet?" She snickered once she came back. 

"Not yet." 

She hummed. "I give him five days."

"I give him three." 

Brooke snorted at that. "Gotcha. Winner gets a favor." 

Jean nodded, because even though she was an insufferable cocky tough bitch Brooke was one of the safest persons to own a favor to anyway. She always used them carefree with no ill intent : once she asked for the orange he abandoned on his tray, or to write her essay because she sucked at it, and most of the time she just wanted him to go down on her when they fucked. So, yeah. Pretty nice favors. He didn't mind. 

At water break Jean lead their little competition by several points and he would have several bruises from their confrontations as well. It was fine though. From the corner of his eye, he checked on Mazzira and Astrid. They both could get two cones right but not past that. In Ravens standards, it was a good start. Astrid still seemed on edge but she might have warmed up to the dealer - at least, Mazzira genuinely smiled and Astrid didn't snear so Jean considered it a progress. They even had a quiet chat. Stunning.

"They're betting on two months for yours and one for mine." Brooke appeared at his side and swiped sweat off her face with her jersey. Her tan abs were kind of impressive. "Your take?" 

Jean shrugged. 

"Astrid might last." If she was stuck like him, she had to. "Mazzira?" 

Brooke huffed. "Remember how they've been with Thea and I when we arrived? She's too soft. They'll break her. Two weeks max." 

She was right. There was a heavy difference in bullying between men and women as men thought women were weaker and disposable. As if they were less important to the team, as if it was easier to get rid of them, as if they took men's ranks. Thea and Jenkins had had awful days the previous year and more nasty fights than Jean could remember. Brooke had still a scar across her left eyebrow from the time Williams had pushed her down stairs, when they'd knocked out Thea and Imani had been the one to intervene before it could escalate. Muldani and Jenkins had been insufferable after that, cocky, merciless and at everyone's jugular Jean included, but he couldn't blame them. The Nest did that to people. 

"29's already acting like a motherfucker. Had to punch him in the face when he tried to jump on my rookie." 

"When?" 

"Yesterday. Williams and Morel talked him into it. They can't aim but they trynna fuck us up already."

Jean threw a glance at 28 and 29. 29 indeed had a bruise over his cheekbone, and the both of them couldn't even hit one cone. 

"Fucking losers right. Trashbags," she spat and her Aussie accent flared. "Nice shot!" She threw as he missed yet another one. 

Jean sighed. He wished he could have had a quiet Mazzira and let the two antagonistic witches together. Luck had never been his fate though. 

"Let's go back," he nodded towards the court. 

  
\---

Jean was exhausted but satisfied. It had been a long, demanding and efficient session and he wanted nothing more than a hot shower for his sore muscles and sleep. Jenkins clacked their racquets together before moving towards their partners and he followed. She often sounded harsh and her debrief on Mazzira's work didn't make an exception ; it was her normal voice though, and her rookie should be lucky to not discover what a harsh Brooke truly meant. 

Jean muted it and went to Astrid instead - if she remained wary and out of reach, he didn't comment on it. Dark shadows and lilac bruises underlined her amber eyes, she frowned but she seemed more tired and resigned than angry. In all honesty, Jean felt the same. He balanced his racquet in his hand a few times, hesitant. He didn't really want to get a punch in the face somehow, and when it came to human interactions Jean was at a loss. 

"Shower?" He tried after a moment. 

Astrid hummed. She followed as he went back to the lockers, the two other girls not far behind. 

"How many cones?" He asked on their way. 

She eyed him suspiciously. She seemed to debate whether or not to answer as she bit the inside of her cheek, but in the end she half shrugged. 

"Two." 

That was a start, Jean supposed. 

"Better than yesterday," he hummed. 

It sounded fake even to his own ears. He'd tried, at least. Astrid didn't reply. 

The shower was uneventful and Jean felt lucky : Riko was in such a good mood he didn't think of abusing Jean for once, too busy raving about his _incredible but expected wins_ against a sullen Kevin at Jean's side. Considering the annoyed look Kevin sent his way, Jean figured it hadn't been a fair match, as usual - better to pretend to lose a duel than getting punched in the face, after all. 

"I'll give you my hard drive," Kevin whispered. "For the games."

Jean nodded. 

"Thank you." 

"I'll ask if I can stay, he might agree." 

"Maybe." 

  
\---  
  


Kevin currently sat on Jean's bed, focused on his laptop, a frown on his face. 

"Come on," He huffed in impatience. 

Kevin in all his glory. Jean rolled his eyes and took his sweet time brushing his teeth : once Kevin started being bossy he didn't stop and Jean had grown the habit of putting an end to it with blatant spite. It always worked. Plus Astrid was still working on her stretching exercises anyway so Jean was not late, thank you very much. 

He brushed his teeth and observed his reflection in the mirror. Jenkins had bruised his arm mostly, but nothing much. In fact it wasn't even noticeable among so many marks and scars : his entire torso was a sea of angry red and white lines, some thin and precise, others jagged and absolutely fucked. He had cigarette burns here and there - on his shoulders mostly - and patches of white scarred skin he didn't even remember the origin of. The ones on his left side and on his knee had been that time he fell from his bike on concrete as a kid though. The only normal ones. He couldn't see his back but he didn't need to to remember the bite of a harsh belt on raw meat. These were when his mother thought he lacked discipline and his father wasn't here to see. Riko had found it funny to add to the mess later on, because triggers were so cool to play with, right. Jean wondered if his Mom would consider him disciplined enough now. 

He spat his bitterness in the sink, rinsed his mouth, changed into his black sweatpants and t-shirt then left the bathroom. Kevin perked up at his arrival. 

"Fucking finally," He complained. 

Jean didn't bother replying, dropped besides him instead. 

"I haven't seen them all," Kevin said as he looked through his files. "We can start with this one?" 

"Ok." 

"Which one?" Astrid asked before breathing in and out. 

She tended towards the end of her ritual Jean noticed : she sat on the ground, both legs outstretched in front of her as she laid on it. Jean didn't get how she could grip her ankles and bend in half like that. That was not human. 

"Against UK for rounds," Kevin said. 

"Alright."

Kevin pressed start. Astrid had played one half but knowing him they would watch the entire game anyway. Jean had to admit that it was interesting to see European styles : Astrid's team tactics revolved a lot around sly dodges, sneaky feints and brute force as their opponents focused on a very aggressive offense and an all-in all-out team - meaning even the backline tended to move forward with the ball or on the contrary the frontline in the back when needed. This resulted in impressive confrontations as the UK's team moved as a block all the time, almost impossible to pass through. It also meant that when one of the opposite strikers managed to pierce their human wall, the team was fucked : you couldn't catch up with a striker on their way to scoring when all your players were too involved beyond middle line. 

Jean could understand better where Astrid's playing style came from and now that he thought about it, she indeed had that penchant for brutality and tricky moves. That fit with Ravens. Her footwork was weird though - messy but effective. Or it had a logic that Jean didn't get, he supposed. 

The game went to a high when the UK's striker Oliver rushed so far ahead that the point was a given, except it didn't - Astrid popped out of nowhere and crashed into him so violently he lost both his racquet and butt probably. She jumped back on her feet and smashed the ball in an impressive high curve for it to land right into her striker's net ; said striker didn't even look at it, she jumped, shot, and scored. 

"Your striker is incredible," Kevin said as he replayed the action, amazed.

"Who ?" 

"Kamara. Every player was running to your goal to either stop or help it, but she rushed forward alone !" 

"Yeah." 

"And placed herself perfectly in front of the goal !!" 

"Yep."

"And didn't even look at you to catch it?" 

"Hmm." 

"And she tricked the goalie and smashed bottom right when everyone would have shot top left !" 

"I know right?" 

"That's impressive, how did she know?" 

"Know what?" 

"To rush towards goal and where you'd shot !" 

Astrid shrugged. 

"Communication. We were a very close team. When we were in the middle -" She stood up and bent down above the screen as Kevin replayed it a third time. "There." She pointed with her index. Her head was upside down and she struggled to follow the action that way. "The UK block is on us. Our dealer, Anna, gets rid of the first striker and they're pushing hard. She notices Oliver sneaking on the left and shouts. 

Here, I was slightly behind the mess just in case so I run back. I shout that I'm going, meaning I am getting him - not if or try, I _am_ \- so since I'm confident enough, Kamara - the one with buns there - warns she's going too and our team holds the line for us. It's a risky shot she's gonna try, so it means she's gonna fall on her favorite trick : wrong-foot the goalie. She's done her part, our line has done their part, thus it's my duty to aim where Kamara expects it. She doesn't adjust to me it's the other way around, that's why she doesn't look back. I shot, she shots, we score. 

That's how we work. They trusted me to catch it, we trusted them to hold the line, we trusted her to score it. If I didn't think I would have, then I wouldn't have called in, she wouldn't have run up front, the rest of the team wouldn't have kept the others at bay. We would have played aggressive defense instead."

Kevin nodded at that. 

"That was good." 

"Thanks. Told you I could aim," she smirked and went to grab the water bottle on her bed. 

Someone was being cocky. Kevin pressed play and the video resumed to an overjoyed team who held their striker/backliner duo in triumph on their way to lockers for half time. They shouted and wooed and laughed and that's when it hit him. Jean had been so caught up in the game he hadn't grasped it before, but that almost hysterical group laugh was the well-known signature of a _very_ specific team. 

"You were a Hyena," he realized. 

Astrid's bottle stopped an inch from her mouth ; then, she looked back at him with a sly smirk and challenging eyebrow. 

"It's written on the scoring board you know," she highlighted with mischief. "And on our jerseys." 

"It's a French team." It dawned on him. "You are." 

"Astrid Laurent. Does it not sound French?" 

"Could have been Canadian." 

"But I'm not. I'm from South West, near Spain. I joined the high school then college exy teams but boys were assholes, so once in Paris I applied for Les Hyènes. They're really good." 

They were. Les Hyènes were one of the most known teams for their singularity back in Europe as it was exclusive to women and trans people. Exy being a gender neutral sport but mostly dominated by men, the feminist and queer subculture of Paris had basically said _men are trash_ and built this team as a safe place for their community. Like any sport's female team, they had started from the gutter with nothing but the desire to claim a space they'd been denied and had worked ten times more to prove themselves. Several community exclusive Exy teams appeared all over the world a bit like the skater or roller derby culture, but Les Hyènes with their highly competitive spirit had been the first one to really pop off. 

Now they were at the top. Their hard work had paid off and they were famous for their outstanding communication and teamwork, for their millenial pink outfits, their resilience and combativeness on court and activism off it. And, of course, for their infamous Hyena-like evil laugh.

"You know them?" Kevin asked Jean. 

He shrugged. "They're not American. I never really watched a game." 

"Five years ago they did one of the team's best games if you want, on European championships against Finland. Both teams were stunning." Astrid offered. "The captain was a masterpiece."

"You played?" 

"No, I joined two years later. I wish I had though. They also have an official Twitter with threads of their games, training sessions, bonding moments and stuff. It is a really nice team." 

Astrid had a sad smile at that. She sat down on her bed, knees against her chest and head on it, her gaze lost somewhere near the door. Kevin was too focused on the game playing on his laptop to catch it, but Jean did. He had also left everything behind though, so it probably helped in perceiving longing, melancholia and that awful feeling of miss ; something Kevin wasn't familiar with. He grieved his mother, not a whole life and the entirely different person he could have been without Exy, because Kevin liked to have that sport. Worst even, that sport _was_ his life and being a Raven was the best way to fulfill this need, no matter how fucked up that place was. 

For a long time, Jean had wished he could move back to Marseilles. After a decade though, he had come to realize that if he had been sent here in the first place it meant nothing worthy waited for him there anyway. He had nothing outside of Ravens, both his Mom and the Moriyamas had made sure of that. His best chance was to actually try to survive, so he reluctantly focused back on the games to find areas of improvement. 

All in all it was a long evening, and when Astrid started nodding off and fighting back sleep, Jean suggested Kevin to call it a night. He protested a bit but as usual Jean reminded him that they would be useless if too tired to play, and it did wonders. So predictable. 

As he peed, Jean debated whether he could ask Astrid to speak French sometimes. It was not wise, but it also was the last remnants of an identity he didn't have the courage to let go of. Jean didn't think one could forget his mother tongue, but ten years without any native to talk to had taken a toll on his own fluency and in spite of his best efforts to maintain it, it often felt like English had outgrown it. He hated it. Maybe he could indulge, when no one could catch on it like they used to with Kevin.

He'd almost made up his mind when he came back to the main room but he didn't have the chance to ask in the end : Astrid was dead asleep on her bed, and by dead he meant she hadn't even slid under covers. He sighed. It had indeed been a long day. Jean gave up and just let exhaustion catch up to him as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had as much fun as I did ? Seriously though, with a mixed sport where men still manage to keep most of the spotlight and pro careers, I BET you there would be no-cis-men-allowed teams. I couldn't fit it in but in North America, the Black Widows are well-known and in America Latina it's the Piranhas. I can already see the gang jackets. I also had the Black Mambas in Kenya, the Tasmanian Devils in Australia,... But yeah, hyenas have my heart
> 
> Aaaanyway, I hope you like Brooke because I love this rough binche, Mazzira is a kind shy bean and you'll get more of her too. I warned you, this all started on "I want more women in Exy." And queer people, obviously. Headcanon as many trans Hyènes as you want, you deserve it.


	4. Let's get physical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygod I made it. 5k words !! Can you believe !!  
> Have an Astrid's POV to know more about the team's bullshit, next chapter we'll be back to Jean's because I miss him
> 
> TW for this chapter : mention of scars, swearing, and another rough beating (same Raven shit)

Astrid missed her Hyenas. That pretty much summed up her Ravens experience at the moment. She missed their easy smiles and complicity, their fierce protection and threatening grins ; that outstanding feeling of belonging when they laughed together then barred their teeth at any intruder. 

Before them, she had been very lonely - she had friends, sure, but no one to deeply understand the fear gnawing her insides, no one to really _get_ that terror or anxiety, no one to share her anger and spare her any triggering bullshit. No, Astrid had spent years tiptoeing around her own boundaries, laying them down with paint and markers to explain what she could speak of, hear about, bear with. What she could not. Only for insensitive people - not rude, not abusive, only ignorant - to stomp all over it since they couldn’t _get it_. Because no matter how many times Astrid had tried to justify her needs, sometimes people could not understand levels of violence they had not experienced themselves. It was not them not bothering or willingly being assholes, they just couldn’t grasp it.

They were lucky.

So when she met the Hyenas, it felt like that first inhale of air after drowning for far too long : it burnt like a motherfucker all the way down to her lungs. It had been the world against Astrid ; it became Hyenas against the world. Maybe they didn’t get everything and they didn’t even try to, but they still built a safe space for themselves and offered to share. She had ever so slowly warmed up to them and after three years took it for granted.

Now she had to deal with Ravens who were everything but a team. They were not ravens but vultures. They lacked the barest sense of community, the slightest hint of empathy or joy that the actual bird displayed ; they were full of toxic masculinity, bullying and fragile, over the moon egos - a bunch of bullshit she could manage but was tired of dealing with, really. So, yeah. Astrid missed her Hyenas. She also missed her soft pink home jersey and her away one, white with her favorite number sued in pink glitter. And god did she miss _women._ Twenty one men in the same team was downright oppressive, leaving her wary and on edge 24/7 as her hypervigilance would _not_ shut the fuck up. It was a damn permanent fire alarm screech in her head, insufferable and never ending, and Riko's attack sure hadn't helped : she went from high alert to blatant paranoia, a ticking bomb ready to fight or flight at the barest move. 

That probably was why she sat next to Mazzira, far from everyone else. It was a welcome, much needed break that allowed her extremely tense body to relax a bit. The team fought hard on court while rookies watched the match from benches to take notes and highlight mistakes later on. Astrid didn’t care much and contemplated the tiny bottle she held in her hand instead. They’d missed the first part of scrimmages to meet the team’s nurse - Astrid had been on the verge of panic but Mazzira and her had remained together, and mostly he didn’t even bother with a check-up on injuries or something, bruises be damned. Instead, after a short rant on contractual obligations he gave them one tiny bottle each and sent them on their way. It had been _interesting_ to say the least. 

“Will you do it ?” Mazzira asked softly.

She wasn't pleased with the situation. Her blonde hair fell all over her face but Astrid could still grasp her downward mouth and tight eyebrows.

“If any doc tries to approach me with their damn DIU I’ll slice their throat open with it so, guess it’s gonna be the pill,” Astrid shrugged. 

Mazzira wrinkled her freckled nose at the mental image and hummed. A contraceptive pill prescription could have been normal - thoughtful even - except orders were to take it every single day, no break allowed, and they didn’t have a say in the matter. To sum it up ? Raven girls were shooted on hormones like fucking chickens to suppress their period and not impact their game. 

“Brooke told me they did it, Thea and her. This is personal. They don’t have the right to force that on us, especially an overuse of medication.” She chided.

“Yeah, that’s trash,” Astrid agreed.

It was infuriating, even. Girls had to work and prove themselves twice more, their talent and feelings were always diminished and that was yet another attack to control their bodies. If Astrid had had something to fight for, she would have thrown a furious tantrum, slammed the door and never looked back. She didn’t though. She had nothing left and she couldn’t afford to spare any energy in such a useless debate. If she changed her mind, she could still stop one chosen week every two or three months as a compromise, nobody would choke it down her throat anyway. Probably. Hopefully.

“I still want to be 4,” Astrid added after a moment as she tucked the pack of pills in her pocket, “so I don’t care. I’ll swallow it down.”

Mazzira studied her but didn't comment in the end, she chose to nod and focus back on the game instead. 

\---

The gym was immense and offered every equipment one could imagine including several treadmills, cardiovascular, elliptical or rowing machines, punching balls, stationary bikes, weights, weights, and even more weights. That was kinda impressive.

Afternoon gym sessions allowed Astrid to observe some more how that team worked. Their attitude on court was something already but groups there were made out of obligation and need more than anything ; whereas you could work at the gym alone, meaning groups weren’t a necessity and built on affinity. That always spoke volumes on dynamics.

Unsurprisingly, Riko and Kevin ran on treadmills side by side. Kevin focused on the wall far ahead, stubborn and deep in thought, as Riko breathed anger in and out as usual and threw a glance at Kevin’s stats from time to time. If he thought nobody caught him when he fastened his pace out of spite, he was sorely mistaken. He was so ridiculous.

Using weights were Williams (12, starting backliner), Engle (13, sub striker), Austin (17, sub dealer) and Penner (19, sub backliner). They were the worst to target freshmen on court so Astrid hated them on principle and she still savored Engle’s concussion for that very same reason. These four were loudly aggressive and Astrid’s red flags tended to flare up everytime she approached them. It was in the way they carried themselves, thick arms rolling in confidence as if they owned the place, in the nasty glances they sent towards those considered breakable, in how Jenkins never _ever_ lingered around them or let Mazzira do it. It was in her own guts who screamed in fear each time it recognized danger. 

These assholes often mingled with Kutcher (23, sub dealer) and his partner Morel (21, sub striker) but Kutcher and Austin always jumped at each other’s throat to fight for the starting line so it didn’t happen that much. In fact, Kutcher fought everyone since he was one step from falling to rookies’ ranks, so you know, toxic pride, fragile egos, all that jazz. That was pathetic and Astrid couldn’t wait to make him trip down with a nice kick in the butt.

Speaking of dealers, Imani talked to Mazzira on their way to cardio machines. When Jenkins passed next to them, she smacked his butt and snickered when he batted her hand away without even breaking eye contact with Mazzi. Jenkins then approached the bikes and fistbumped Lee before leaning against Miles’ shoulder to check his time. They both were respectively 14 and 10 goalies and from what Astrid gathered, they minded their own business and rarely participated in fights. They might be okay. 

The remaining backliners, 15 Wong and 16 Da Silva as well as 19 Penner and 22 Dimitri seemed alright. Assholish but not antagonistic, they still fought a lot but between themselves more than anything. None of them were starting line anyway and even though they did their best they also smelled of resignation from a mile away. Wong and Da Silva could have aimed for second best backliner though, they had a very good game and Jean played better with them than with Williams. Such a shame Astrid was here to tower them all now. 

If she summed it up she could grasp four groups at the moment, Perfect Court not included. First, the squad of class A assholes with 4 to 6 pricks that she would have to keep an eye on, plus the group of Zero fucks given with Lee, Wong, Imani and Jenkins, and finally the Neutral-Neutrals with the remaining ones which consisted of bland rude people - not kind, sure, but not a threat either. Last group was just the rookies who didn't fit anywhere yet, except Mazzira who made the Safe Squad all by herself. Astrid decided that she would only trust that one. 

"Do you want to join us?" A voice cut her thoughts. 

Astrid startled and scowled at a bruised, slightly swollen face. Ah. Mazzi had told her this morning : the upperclassmen had woken up the new boys in the middle of the night two days in a row. None of them knew the details except it had been a long and rough bullying that did not allow them any rest. Considering 28 Lillian's face that was not bullying. That was downright abuse. She frowned. 

"No thanks, Moreau's waiting for me to spot him. What happened?" Astrid asked. 

26, Thomas, visibly flinched. 

"Nothing," He answered too fast. 

"Looks like abuse to me," she raised an eyebrow. "You should report it to Tetsuji. And learn how to fight. Balls and throat are very painful. Hit with your elbow or knee, that shit's tough as fuck." She offered and turned away to join a solo and impatient Jean. 

That was not her battle and she probably would have the same bullshit thrown at her sooner or later, but maybe she could give some tips that would not backfire. That was their decision to make on whether they used it or not. She didn't catch their surprised stares. Only Jean's grumpy one. 

"You are too slow," he complained in a flat voice. 

"Shut up, I'm here." Astrid eyerolled as she moved in front of the bench press. "Ready when you are." 

Jean nodded and barely had the time to lie down and push weights once before Imani appeared at their side. 

"Hey. Need help?" The starting dealer offered. 

Astrid huffed. 

"I literally am _right here,_ " she tsked. 

"Yes, but you're kinda tiny little Shrimp."

She threw a nasty glare at him as the ghost of a smile spread over his lips.

"I may be small, I can still wreck kneecaps. You know, to get you off your high horse. You'd be surprised." 

Imani's eyes widened and he snorted. 

"Good luck with that one," he said towards Jean in an amused tone. 

"The both of you just shut up," Jean sighed as he tried to focus on his training. 

Astrid made a petulant _shoo_ motion with her hand and Imani backed away, both hands raised in mock surrender. Considering how he let his eyes wander over Jean's torso, Astrid was pretty sure she had _not_ been the problem somefuckinghow. 

After half an hour, Jean stood up so they could switch places. He offered to lower the weights but Astrid refused and got comfortable on the bench press. It might be a good time to show off and prove that she deserved her spot as a Raven. Okay, she _liked_ to show off, period. Jean also took the break as an opportunity to empty his water bottle and get rid of his jersey. As he told her once, modesty meant jack shit to Ravens : an hour in and everyone had their shirts off. Nobody cared. Astrid considered ending in a sports bra like Jenkins, but she didn’t feel comfortable enough yet. The most visible scars were on her stomach and even though crop tops were an absolute blessing she would not give that part of her, especially if dudes like Riko promised to be abusive pricks. Only naive people gave a baseball bat to be beaten with, after all, and she would pass on that one.

She still considered the jersey without a turtleneck. Or a tank top. Anything that didn’t involve her dying of overheat like a fried nuggets. Jenkins and Mazzira had seen her skin already and it had been _mostly_ fine if she ignored Jenkins’ snide remarks so. Later, maybe. Plus Jean didn't seem to mind, but at the same time only three persons didn't share his lockers so everyone had already seen his scarred skin, she figured. Astrid would not pry and look into details but it was still difficult not to notice the myriad of scars and marks all over his torso, especially as he hovered behind in case she needed help with her weights. That was. So. Fucked up. And the worst part that raised every red flag? Some were pretty recent. One week, two maybe. Option one was he'd come back to an abusive home for summer. Option two was that he'd never left in the first place. Great. Awesome. 

In all honesty Astrid had thought about it. Kevin and him flinched too much, too often, always remained further than at arm's length, surveyed the barest movement with a panicked expression. Wariness was written all over their faces, and even if she wasn't sure where to place them on the Safe scale yet, it had still been enough to stop her from punching Jean in the face when triggered. He hadn't moved, even reflexively. Any other reaction, she would have probably broken his nose but he only readied himself for the hit like an outgrown habit and it had had the effect of an acid shower on her. She still felt bad about it, even if he'd been wrong in the first place. 

After two hours switching places on the bench press and three were he bossed her around like the grumpy bastard he was, Jean wanted to spend some time on the rowing machine and Astrid prefered to train the old fashioned way. And mostly, to move far _far_ away from him before she throttled him. He was at least as annoying as an hyper focused Kevin and _th_ at was some fucked up level already. 

She looked around to find Mazzira hovering over skipping ropes - the blonde caught her and raised one in a silent offer. Uh. Not a bad idea. Astrid put her headphones on with upbeat pop and grabbed the rope Mazzi lended her. That was one of Astrid’s favorite exercises : it was deadly efficient for cardio and footwork, and mostly, she always ended up having a blast. 

They started slow to warm up but they both quickly got carried away with their respective music. Nobody could resist Dua Lipa’s beat and Astrid made no exception - she ended jumping in time to the song, left, right, left, right, left left right left right right, cross arms, U-turn, cross feet uncross them. After the first one, Mazzi used their small water break to check Astrid’s album and add it on her phone. When they resumed, it was on the same song and they started a silent competition of sorts on who would stop first. It was more of an excuse to dance while jumping though, really, and considering Mazzi’s perfect rhythm and smooth moves she was not a beginner. They would use slow moments as active rest or water breaks and jumped on the most upbeat parts to go wild on it. 

They ended the album in sync, drained, sweaty and out of breath. Satisfied. Mazzira let her head fall back to push blonde hair with a calloused hand and Astrid smirked. 

“You’re a dancer,” Mazzi had a fond smile.

Astrid shrugged.

“I like to freestyle.” Then she cocked her head to the side. “Let me guess. Ballet ?”

“For ten years,” Mazzi hummed as she opened her water bottle. 

“It shows in how you move,” Astrid nodded.

“How ?”

“You walk on a line naturally,” Astrid pointed to her overall stature. “You stand upright and head high, people often slouch shoulders a bit but you don’t, like most dancers. Also discipline. Clearly.”

“Ah, yes. Old habits die hard. I wanted to be a prima ballerina but surrounding schools considered my bone structure imperfect and would not give me a chance. I got bored and started cheerleading in middle school. I really loved it and I was very good at it but there are no pro careers later on so since Exy seemed fun, I entered my high school team as a starting dealer. And I made it here,” she smiled sheepishly.

“You want to be pro then.”

“Yes. I love sports too much. I’m not interested in my science class, I only took it to learn about the human body and be more efficient.”

She could understand that. She didn't catch surrounding players staring. 

\---

Astrid’s entire body threatened to collapse at any moment and the hot shower did absolutely nothing about it. God, she would never survive that rhythm. She let herself drop on her mattress and sighed in relief. Jean rolled his eyes at her dramatics but really, he wasn’t much better - he laid down on his stomach, his left arm hanging in defeat an inch from the ground, staring at absolutely nothing. That dumbass had probably blown up his arms on the rowing machine. (Astrid’s legs burnt and trembled from jumping so much but nobody had to know.)

A fast knock on the door stirred them out of their drowsy state though and Astrid startled, tense. Jean only sighed.

“It’s fine, devils don’t knock,” he mumbled. “What,” he threw towards the door.

Jenkins opened it without much ceremony and leant on the doorway, nonchalant.

"Or maybe they do," Jean grumbled. 

“Wow. Yall are pathetic,” she snorted.

“What do you want,” he eyerolled.

“A favor.”

Jean frowned at that.

“Kevin isn’t shitfaced yet,” he highlighted. “And it’s not been three days. I haven’t lost.”

“Not that one. A previous one. Or a later one.” Jenkins crossed her arms.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Jeez I don’t give a shit, wanna fuck or not ? I don’t have all day.” 

Okay. Astrid frowned as Jean pointed towards her in a lazy hand motion.

“Hey Shrimpie,” Jenkins called her out. “Can you shoo somewhere else ? Or join I don’t care.”

Astrid made a face.

“Where’s somewhere,” she asked with barely concealed disgust.

“Second room to your right, next to Imani’s. That would do, _Princess_ , or is that still a no ? Else I can just go to Miles’.” Jenkins threw towards Jean.

“Stop being so bossy,” he turned on his back.

“You like it.” She bit back, petulant.

“Hey, let me fucking _leave_ I don’t want to know for fuck’s sake,” Astrid protested.

She grabbed her phone and barely had the time to make it to the door before it slammed behind her, bringing a few curious looks her way. Fuck that team seriously. She just wanted to sleep. She swore some french insults under her breath and went for said room. Mazzira scrolled through her phone on her bed and made a sympathetic face at her arrival.

“She’s a bit intense but she’s not a bad person,” she offered as Astrid sat on Jenkins’ bed.

“How do you even bear her seriously,” Astrid dryly asked.

“I might zone out from time to time,” Mazzi admitted with an unapologetic smile.

“Fucking valid,” she snorted. “Same with the grumpy fuckface.”

“Jean seems more quiet.”

“He’s still a pain in the ass.”

Mazzira giggled. 

“I was searching for some dancing videos, any rec ?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah. The 1 million studio is pretty hot. It’s my favorite. But there’s a lot more I can find them, hold on.” Astrid searched for her different dancing playlists.

“I’ll start with your studio it’s fine. I tried urban dance once, it was kinda wonky but funny.”

“What did you try ?”

“Popping. This is _so hard_ ! Wait I can try again if you want.”

“Fuck yes, I can’t do that.”

Mazzira stood up and started popping in rhythm to the music with outstanding determination. She actually was really good at it what the fuck ? It lead to another one, and soon enough they ended up both dancing to a chill beat even if they couldn’t give it their best after such an intense day. Still fun though. Astrid barely danced anymore these days and it felt good, made her forget everything else. She even got rid of her long sleeved shirt to keep only her tank top - Mazzi had seen her arms already anyway so she didn’t care, and damn she could finally cool off. She hadn't realized how unbearable the heat had been. 

_Can you actually make a split?_ And Mazzira would as easily as breathing. _Dance en pointe, see? Like this!_ And Astrid would try to imitate her and hold on for a few seconds. It hurt though and she dropped it quickly. They exchanged moves back and forth a moment until Astrid’s thighs warned her to kindly fuck off or they’d give up.

“Okay, I need to stop,” Astrid exhaled. “Pee time.”

“God I’m dying,” Mazzi groaned and sprawled on her bed with the grace of a tripping camel.

Astrid snorted and went to the toilets. She flushed it and was passing some fresh water over her face when she heard Mazzira call her name in a panic. Astrid stormed to the door to find her on the ground as Kutcher pulled her hair to hit her back. It had the effect of a bucket of ice and Astrid's fight or flight was immediate. 

“Don’t fucking touch her,” she threatened.

Instincts barged in and she charged their way before Kutcher could land another punch. She crashed into him so violently he gasped and wined in pain. She elbowed him right in his windpipe so he’d shut the fuck up and kicked his guts but got stopped halfway through her next hit : a surprising arm clenched around her throat from behind to drag her away from him. A harsh flashback made her suck in a ragged breath - in a blink she found herself back in that midnight, ugly street of Paris, bleeding and desperately fighting for air. That piece of shit would not let her go and Lorenzo landed one two three nasty hits as Astrid begged for the panic attack _not now not now not n o w_ . Mazzira’s shriek pierced through her frantic heartbeat like torn glass shredded damaged skin. _Concentre toi putain._

She managed to free her right arm and elbowed backward, _hard_ , along with a vigorous headbutt. Wilson swore but freed her and that was enough.

“Imma fucking murder you,” she shouted as she gripped Lorenzo’s hair to yank him backward.

He fell on his butt and didn’t land that kick to Mazzi’s ribs. Then she clutched Kutcher’s shoulder to make him turn, suckerpunched him hard enough his nose started bleeding and was about to finish him off when both Lorenzo and Wilson tackled her on the ground, knocking the air out of her lungs. _Fuck._ She should have ended them first. She couldn't see her but Mazzira begged them to stop and screamed for help as they started beating the shit out of the two girls, both wound up in a tight ball to protect their head and stomach, unable to move between so many kicks and unconstrained panic. 

Astrid heard someone barge in and recognized Jenkins’ furious voice with Jean’s vicious swearing - Paris faded away like a bubble popped. _Oh thank god_ , she thought face first on the ground. She got another nasty kick in the stomach that made her anxiety flare up before someone _finally_ lifted the heavy weight off her back. She drew in a ragged breath, growled in pain, half in a daze, trying to understand what the fuck was happening. She tried to lean on her arms to stand but they gave up and she fell back face first against black tiles. _Fuuuck it hurt._ There were too much shouting and moves and feet for her brain to catch up.

“Hey Mazz. Mazz, you still with me ?” 

Astrid could grasp Jenkins next to the dealer.

“Don’t move, take it slow,” she said as Mazzira stirred. “Hold on. Imani, one sec.”

Jenkins stood up, got out of Astrid’s sight and from the sound of it punched damn hard one of the attackers.

“You are a fucking dead fuckwit,” she spat. “Say goodbye to any upper rank, we’ll drag you down the gutter and stomp all over your sorry excuse of a body until you drop out. Get fucking _stuffed_.”

Astrid snorted. She might actually like her. _Might._ Two different footsteps came nearer then - first Jenkins who attended back to her rookie, the second of Jean who crouched in front of her. 

“Can you talk ?” he asked, not unkindly. “Fuck she’s bleeding.”

“Here,” Jenkins threw the clean towel she hadn’t used for Mazzi. 

“Thank you. Astrid ?”

Astrid sighed and nodded in disapproval. It was a damn rave party in her head and it _hurt._

“Ok, come on. Let’s go.”

He offered a slow hand her way but she recoiled harshly and he sighed.

“Brooke-”

“I’m busy,” she snapped.

“Help her stand up. Please.” Jean insisted.

“Seriously,” she groaned as she helped Mazzira sit on her bed. “One sec.”

Soon enough Jenkins appeared in front of her face, slid an arm around her waist and put Astrid’s around her shoulders to lift her back up on her feet. Astrid realized she hadn’t even put her clothes on, she was only in her underwear and barefoot. The red and black snake inked all around her thigh was kinda impressive. 

“Fucking rookies,” Jenkins swore. “I’m not letting mine to escort yours, just sort it out. Stable enough shrimpie ?”

At the backliner’s nod she let go without much ceremony and Astrid almost fell back on her butt. She didn’t though. 

“We should leave,” Jean said.

When Astrid didn’t move, too focused on a bleeding Mazzira, Jenkins eyerolled.

“I’m taking care of it, go away,” she tsked. “You’re as ugly right now.”

Mazzira rose two weak thumbs up in an attempt to reassure everyone. She struggled to focus and had blood all over her mouth and teeth, who the fuck would consider it convincing, seriously? 

Astrid turned away before she could punch someone herself. Since there was nothing left to do, Imani and Lee retreated back to their respective rooms, everyone else remained in the corridors. They had all heard and seen. Nobody had moved a finger. Especially Riko whose sick smile widened and eyes glinted at her sight. Behind him, a newly bruised Kevin displayed a sad, sorry face. It had been option two, then. Once she gained back some energy, she would be downright murderous. 

“Here,” Jean gave her the pack of ice Imani had brought him. She sat on her bed and he crouched in front of her, out of arm’s reach. She was grateful for the space even if it probably wasn't for her sake. “May I dry off the blood ?”

She pouted and made a no motion with her head. Instead she grabbed the soft, wet cloth to clean her wounds herself. She started with her face, let it rest in the comfortable towel long enough she could almost pretend to fall asleep. Her eyes were a bit blurry but she was not sad and she would not cry, only drained. Then she disinfected and brushed gently her bloody knuckles one by one. These were moves she knew by heart so it was okay. When she caught Jean’s attention lingering on her forearms she remembered she was only in her tank top, leaving black ink for everyone to see. She realized she didn’t care - the tattoos already were a cover up of scars anyway. They wouldn’t see them. It would be fine.

“Any serious damage?” He frowned.

Astrid snorted at that. She was a walking disaster but whatever. She bent her arms and flexed her fingers, checked her ribs even though it felt okay. It stung from both over exertion and being roughed up but everything worked and she’d had it worse. She wasn’t worried in the end, and from Jean’s nod of approval he wasn’t either. She applied the pack of ice on her face and as her gaze wandered aimlessly she caught his bleeding hand. She frowned and threw the towel his way, and when he didn’t understand nodded towards the wound. 

“Oh.” He inspected it. “This is not mine.” He shrugged and cleaned it up. “I think you broke his nose.”

She raised a defiant chin and wiggled cocky eyebrows. Of course she had. That was what she'd aimed for. He huffed. 

"This is typical rookie dramatics at the start of the year. I don't think Wilson and Lorenzo will come back at you."

"Mazzira," she mouthed. 

Jean’s frown deepened and stared at his hands. 

"There won't always be someone to help. She will have to prove she is not the weakest." 

She tsked in disapproval. He was right though. 

"I apologize. We shouldn't have left you alone."

She shrugged. Astrid breathed in and out then cleared her throat, focused on the feeling of ice against bruised skin. She was in an empty room with nobody but a man who had been scared of her fist. The door was closed, their bed lamps barely lit the room and her now empty, pink luggage towered everything from the top of her dressing.

"Not your fault," she managed after a moment. 

Jean perked up the slightest bit. 

"It's when you are triggered." 

Astrid balanced her options but knew that it was impossible to hide anyway. Not to an observant person she had to live with. 

"I can't control it." 

"I understand." 

Yeah, somehow she had the feeling he did. She winced when she let go of the ice. A fresh bruise over a day old one was everything but ideal and she hoped her eye wouldn’t shut entirely. Astrid was starting to wonder if one beating per day was a Raven norm - she would rather pass on that one.

"Can you tell me tomorrow who's to avoid and who's safe?" 

"No one is safe." Jean said without hesitation. "Even Mazzira or I could stab you in the back given enough incentive ; or you I." 

"Well that's honest at least," she eyerolled. "You know what I meant."

"Yes."

"Tomorrow? I can't register shit now. "

"Fine." 

"Thanks." 

He shrugged as he stood up. 

"And thanks. For the help."

He stopped on his way to the bathroom.

“Don’t get used to it,” He warned after a few silent seconds.

He didn’t look back.Then he closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so that chapter was A Lot because it absolutely didn't go the way I'd planned, but let's consider that if I wrote it then it fits. Blame Dua Lipa's Future Nostalgia for the dancing, that wasn't intended but hey, it gave Mazzi an actual background ! 
> 
> "Concentre toi putain" means "Focus goddamnit" by the way. It felt better in French for the situation but I'm not sure on how to translate it for you : is in the end notes okay or does it cut too much the action and you'd rather read the english directly inside the chapter (so, no French at all) ?
> 
> I also hope I didn't loose you on numbers and names, I made a recap if you want [Link](https://youdrunkasshole.tumblr.com/post/625808285613817856/ignore-me-here-are-my-notes-on-the-ravens-team-to)
> 
> Next chapter we will go back on Jean's POV and we will really start to enter the Ravens' mindset. I think. I hope I can break soon the "one day a chapter" rhythm because I'm not too fond of it, but I feel like the start of the year with Ravens would be the most chaotic time with upperclassmen gone, freshmen to break and new group dynamics to build/establish. I don't know. So yeah, maybe chapter 5 eventually 6 will still be the first two weeks, and then we will jump forward to when classes start, fucking finally (history nerd Kevin, everyone ?)


	5. Break them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am sorry for the two weeks wait, they both decided to kick my ass it was not very nice. I almost didn't post it today because I wrote like 9k words but am posting only 5k because I feel like the rest should happen a bit later. I struggled for days trying to rearrange all these events I'm kind of LOSING IT omg  
> The good news is that means a good part is already done for next chapter(s) (actually, I have like. 40k words of small parts but it's so spaced on the timeline I can't even spill one chapter out of nowhere with it)
> 
> As promised, have a lot of Jean and more Raven bullshit. Riko is creeping his way in, it's slow but it's there ! The smile is fake, the pain's real
> 
> TW for this chapter : emotional + physical abuse, mention of panic attack and blood, rough games, usual Raven bullshit

"I hate it here. She's been attacked, why is she even playing?" Astrid grumbled. 

Jean followed her gaze as Jenkins and Mazzira arrived from the lockers. Mazzira's face was an impressive patchwork of swollen bruises and her left eye was almost entirely shut. She did not have her usual genuine attitude, instead her body was tense, her jaw clenched and she favored heavily her right side. On said right stood Jenkins, a fuming harpy Jean had not witnessed since the previous year with Thea when they both faced the very same bullshit. It would be a bloody day. 

"She's got nasty bruises all over her stomach and sides too," Astrid added sourly. "It's ugly as fuck." 

Jean was not surprised - it had meant to harm. Astrid wasn't much better though - she did not limp and both eyes were fine but considering her murderous mood, she was still in noticeable pain. From her demeanor, Jean assumed several bruises and sore muscles from both over exertion and fighting. She'd complained a lot while waking up and had taken extra time to warm that breathing machine of a body, made it slow and extra careful to the point that Jean could almost hear joints creak like an ancient wood door. That was usual Raven condition though, and one far from the worst so she'd have to suck that up like everyone else. 

"You both play because you got caught." Jean explained as if it made any sense. 

"This is so damn _stupid._ " Astrid huffed and crossed her arms as they waited for the team to gather. "We get beaten and then _we_ have to play as a double punishment, yeah, fucking smart right here, yall are genius." 

"Look," Jean ignored her tantrum to nod towards the men's lockers instead. 

She eyerolled but followed his line of sight. Lorenzo, Wilson and even Kutcher came out of the corridor in protective gear, face sour with their fair share of harm as well. She frowned. 

"Did I somehow fail to break his nose?" Astrid raised both eyebrows in surprise, disappointed. 

"It is broken. But they should not have underestimated you. So they are playing too." 

Astrid stared right back at him as if to assess if Jean was joking or not. 

"He's playing," she repeated. 

"Yes." 

"With a broken nose." 

"Yes." 

A few silent seconds passed before the widest grin split her face in two and she focused back on them. She threw her racquet over her shoulders, arms casually resting on it on full display for everyone to see. Solid black and white curves started at her left wrist to grow into delicate and intense waves that surrounded her forearm before they died in a burst of wild foam, just under her elbow. She had given up on her long sleeves and seemed too caught up in spite to care. 

"They're mine," she warned with an intent stare. 

When one of them looked their way, Astrid waved at them then flipped the bird. Jean scoffed. Somehow he had figured that one. 

Bloody turned to be quite the understatement. Thick tension had viciously filtered every space at the Nest to the point that a week in and there was already no room left to breathe, only an epic, threatening thunderstorm looming over their heads. Every grudge laid bare on court like a fertilizer for violence and Ravens relished in it. Jean despised days like these, because he always ended at the bottom of the food chain. 

For now though he was not the main target. Scrimmages were an absolute trainwreck where the game turned into an excuse to assert dominance : Austin barged on Imani each time the two dealers faced each other, which always ended in the lowest to either crash against plexiglass or fall on his butt and made Jean internally smirk. Imani remained that unyielding, brute force with an affinity for demeaning looks down. He was not 11 for nothing and Austin did nothing more than ridicule himself and dig his own grave. It was utterly pathetic. 

As suspected, Jenkins was in full harpy mode : when down for blood Brooke did one illegal move after the other and gave absolutely zero rest to anyone facing her, less inclined to wrong foot someone to avoid them and preferring to crash into them in a blatant foul instead. She swirled around in total chaos to the point that even Wong and Da Silva started fighting each other when they were supposed to be allied backliners and partners. At least Engle had an entire corridor to score against Lee that way ; until Riko spat rough insults and punched Wong in the face hard enough he stumbled then kicked Da Silva in the stomach for good measure. If there was one thing to learn fast at the Nest, it was that Riko's team was never meant to lose. Unsurprisingly, the next time Jenkins jumped in, both Wong and Da Silva focused and made sure she would not make it. It only escalated from there. 

In another life Jean may have been sorry for the two backliners. He already had his hands full dealing with Riko and Kevin assaulting their defense line though, and having to team up with Williams was an entire chore in itself. The barest sight of him made Jean's skin crawl and stomach turn upside down in an awful protest. He hated him with his entire being and the fact that Williams did everything in his power to outskill him did not make it easier. Williams' efforts were useless, mind you, but it still demanded extra focus and it wore Jean down. He could not afford to fuck up and on days like these, with everyone and especially Riko worked up to the bone, even the mere thought of it could be lethal. 

Absolute perfection was impossible to achieve but Jean still did his best to try : he shut his brain off and let his body do the work, let sharp instincts and muscle memory fall into that years old routine of countering and checking an intense, hyper focused Kevin Day. It often seemed like a habit more natural than breathing itself. Or a never ending curse, depending on how you looked at it. 

Jean followed each one of his steps, never allowed an inch of space between them or the goal, anticipated all of Kevin's moves from his snide tricks, his pursed lips to where focused deep green eyes - except Jean knowing Kevin by heart also meant Kevin knew Jean by heart and he side stepped just enough to get free of his mark, rushed forward and passed the ball to Riko who scored. Riko walked back proudly towards the middle and Kevin followed after a quick glance Jean's way, leaving him behind. 

Definitely a curse. 

At half-time they switched marks and Jean tensed. Marking Riko was the most frequent but worst configuration for him : either he failed to protect the goal and got roasted for it or he actually nailed his job and _also_ got roasted for it. A lose-lose situation, like everything else at the Nest. 

Playing against Riko was anything but Exy : it was about being a funambulist and finding the perfect balance between being good, but not too much. The problem? Even after years of practice, the line never remained in the same place and the thunderstorm looming over their head could shake it at any moment. Jean was a funambulist. But make him blind, in the dark, thirty meters above the ground with hands tied down behind his back. That was how he felt. 

The secret was : rig it if needed, but make it subtle. Make him believe he actually won by being the best. Jean knew this. He knew it like he'd carved it on his own skin time and time again. 

So why the fuck did he just body check Riko hard enough he stumbled, passed the ball to Kevin in a rush, lost his balance and fell on his butt as Kevin scored behind them? _Why_? 

Jean and Kevin were downright livid and both rushed to their captain. 

"I apologize," Jean bowed his head as he offered a helping hand. 

Riko's stare was downright acid. He crushed Jean's hand in a tight grip. Jean did not let pain show on his face, but he still clenched his jaw as he pulled Riko back on his feet, trying to ignore the frantic panic of his heartbeat. 

"No problem," Riko said with a fake smile. "You did a good job." 

He clasped a heavy hand on Jean's shoulder, all fake praise while he squeezed hard enough it would bruise. Jean winced but said nothing. The smile went from fake to cruel as Riko patted his inked cheek for good measure, then he snatched the racquet Jean held for him and went back into position. Anxious green eyes checked his face for any mark. There hadn't been consequences, but there would be. They both knew it. Kevin hesitated before he left to follow Riko and if he let a comforting hand linger on him, where his clavicle and neck met, nobody caught it. It might have been the most painful.

At almost noon, the game stopped and Jean was grateful for the break - his right arm was getting sore from all of Riko's violent tricks and tackles. Everyone gathered to analyze that first part before they left for lunch and Astrid offered a water bottle on his way out. He accepted it. He could also feel the weight of her gaze on him, thus he waited.

“You good?” she whispered once he closed the bottle.

Jean frowned at that.

“Yes. Why.”

“You seem off.”

Jean was about to shrug when Williams and Austin brushed past him on their way to the bench ; he recoiled so hard at the contact he let the bottle drop. He couldn’t panic now, he couldn’t when everyone would be watch-

He hissed when cold hit his forearm but that was enough to jump him out of his daze. Nobody was watching except for Astrid who bore into him with an intent stare and a frown on her face. Jean looked down. There wasn’t a single drop of water spilled on the floor - instead she held the bottle intact in her hand, against his arm. Jean’s relief overwhelmed him so much he almost drowned. The last time he had messed up the court, he could not play the two following days. 

Jean assessed his surroundings out of fear and out of habit - they had been too caught up in nasty bickering or water break to notice. Only Kevin threw a worried glance his way but broke the spell soon enough when Riko moved too fast next to him. He always ended skittish for a few days after Riko beat him. Jean breathed in and out in a slow, quiet motion before focusing back on his partner. She hadn’t moved an inch. Jean didn’t quite know what to do with patience.

“Thank you,” he exhaled.

“No problem.” she said as she handed him back the bottle.

When he hesitated too long to take it, she just shrugged and dropped her hand.

“I can -”

“It’s fine,” she cut in. “I’ll keep it. Unless you need the cold.”

He shook his head in a silent refusal and tried not to be surprised when she kept both the bottle and her word. Jean needed to get a fucking grip. He couldn’t behave like this everytime one of _them_ shared the same space, it was downright impossible to avoid with games, training sessions and lockers. God did he miss Thea on his backline, maybe he’d get shitfaced before Kevin about it. 

Jean always dreaded the lockers. He might have been slower than usual but he kept his face void of fear nonetheless. Blank was safer. He might avoid the tantrum. He barely had the time to drop his jersey on the bench though before Riko gripped his hair and yanked it backwards viciously. 

"Who am I?" He growled as he banged Jean's head against the door. 

"King," Jean answered in a panic, trying to control his shaky hands from fighting back. 

"Who Am I?" Bang. _"Who am I?"_ Bang. **_"Who am I?"_ ** Bang. 

Jean took in a harsh breath as soon as Riko stopped hitting to loom over him. His eyes were lethal and Jean was terrified. He swallowed down the bile in his throat in a hasty attempt to make place for words.

"You are King," he forced out. "I apologize. I will improve my game. You are King." 

Riko let go of his hair to grip his chin. He tightened his hold so hard Jean was pretty sure Riko's fingerprints would carve themselves on his skin. 

"I sure _am_ ," Riko fumed in ire. "And you are _dogshit._ Never forget it. What are you ?"

“Dogshit.”

“ _What are you?_ ”

“I am dogshit.” 

Riko pushed him on the ground and landed a kick on his jaw. He spat on him then stormed off, barked Kevin’s name when the striker didn’t follow fast enough. 

Jean closed his eyes as the lockers emptied out in a rush. Cowards. Assholes. His head wouldn't stop throbbing. He focused on the cold tiles against scarred skin to get a grip on his ragged breath, on a drop of water who fell into a rhythmic _dip dip dip_ a few meters away. He was alone. 

"Jean? You still in there?" He heard from the other side of the door. 

Sometimes he wished the world would forget him entirely. He cleared his throat. 

"One minute."

"Okep." 

She made the _p_ pop in her typical French attitude and Jean huffed. After a while, he stood back up on his feet and waited for the world to stop spinning. He showered, let the warmth untense his sore muscles, let his forehead rest against black tiles to not get his head soaked. Water on sweaty skin was fine - he disliked it enough it would prevent him from zoning out. On his face though? Jean didn't feel like having another panic attack today. He breathed in and out, replayed the match in his head. He had been so fucking stupid, bodychecking him like that. Of course Riko had retaliated, but Jean had to be honest, Riko didn't even need a reason for it. Sooner or later, it always was bound to happen anyway. 

\--- 

After lunch, the lowest half of the team got in line for their own game. Astrid would be paired to Penner and Jean sighed internally. Gamewise it was a smart choice : they would have the oldest goalie, 20 Gauthier instead of 26 Thomas, and Penner while being only 19 was still a decent backliner. That way they also made a rookie/sophomore duo along with 22 Dimitri and 29 Wilson facing them. So, pretty balanced. Personality wise though, Penner was as much a piece of shit as Engle, Austin or Williams. Strikers got arranged the same way, which meant that among rookies 28 Lillian would be against 27 Lorenzo ; and Mazzira against Kutcher.

In other words, Astrid and Mazzira would ironically face Lorenzo, Wilson and Kutcher _again_. Riko’s devious grin was answer enough. Lillian had also had his own fair share of trouble lately so Jean hoped it would not unbalance the team too much mentally, the girls couldn’t afford to lose. 

Jean heard a stressing rush of water on his right and glanced over to see Astrid throwing and catching her water bottle absentmindedly, throwing and catching, throwing and catching, confident enough that she did not even bother looking at it. Instead she focused with unyielding intent on Lorenzo and Kutcher like a lioness on its prey. She had barely talked all day and even though she was not a natural babbler like Jenkins, Jean still felt a difference. It probably was the remnants of exhaustion and the night before as nothing seemed to pass through her head except for the sweet melody of revenge. Still, when she’d caught sight of Jean’s reddening face she had frowned, left him alone on their table for one minute and came back to drop a pack of ice next to him, no question asked. It had not been much, but still much more than anyone else had done. Despite himself, he had appreciated it.

As the Master ordered them to get in place, Astrid handed Jean her toy and when he did not take it, she forcefully let go of her target to stare at him instead. Now that he had her attention, he held both said bottle and her gaze.

“Break them,” he said.

It took her a few seconds to come back from her head but once she did she raised a defiant eyebrow and nasty smirk that promised nothing but trouble. Almost mocking him for expecting anything else. Of course. His point made, Jean grabbed the bottle and off she went. 

"Break a leg," he heard Brooke order her rookie. "Literally. Break his fucking leg." 

Mazzira nodded back and went for her own place on court. Jean caught her clenched jaw and fists - a day of drills plus a game was probably not her favorite definition of rest.

"Twenty bucks on mine," Brooke said as soon as she joined Jean. 

"I do not care about money." 

"One favor then. Name it Kutcher.”

Jean cocked his head to the side. He could indulge. 

“Two on mine.”

“That confident?” She asked, taken aback. “Name it.”

“One for Lorenzo,” he nodded towards the striker. “One for Penner.”

“Uh. So she’s good then. You’re on.”

“What’s up bitches,” Imani arrived from behind and Jean forced down the flinch.

“We’re doing bets,” Brooke explained as she gave her racquet to the dealer so she could rebraid her hair. He took it without batting an eye. “Favors. I, one for Mazzi on Kutcher’s head. Him, two for Shrimpie on Lorenzo and Penner.”

“Really ?” He asked Jean.

Jean shrugged. He observed the court. The game hadn’t started yet but Penner and Astrid seemed to already have an argument. From what he gathered, she probably bossed him around to get her target as a mark, would not move from her position and soon enough he gave up with various insults on his way out. 

“Really,” he confirmed.

“Ok. I’ll bet two too then. One for Mazzi on Wilson-”

“You rooting for mine?” Brooke snickered.

“I”d rather have her as a sub than the two morons.” He clicked his tongue. “Right Austin? Look at your successor, you might learn a trick or two,” He sneered. “Like strength. Or brain cells. Or _footwork._ ”

A fuming Austin stood up as if to attack him but Miles and Lee pushed each one shoulder enough for him to fall back into a pitiful sitting position.

“Spare your butt, asshole,” Imani snorted.

“Truth hurts babe, couldn’t even catch me.” Brooke eyerolled before she focused back on Imani. “And the second?”

“Second favor on your rookies losing.”

“Are you serious, you want the fuckwits to win?” She exclaimed in disgust.

“Nah, want to spice things up a bit, ain’t fun if we all win our bets. And maybe you’ll be the ones losing.” Imani smirked and sent Jean a sly look that he dutifully ignored.

“Okay, you’re just being a horny slut.” Brooke huffed.

“Takes one to know one.”

“Yeah and I’m proud -”

Jean was about to let himself drift into their usual banter before a distasteful voice cut short any thought of escaping, even mentally.

“Jean.” Riko snapped, tone acid.

Jean straightened up and looked back at a menacing Riko. He respectfully bowed his head and moved at Kevin’s side on the bench without a word. Brooke and Imani had stopped talking and after a slight glance his way, they focused back on the new game, any amusement drained in an instant and long forgotten. As Riko turned his attention back on his two possessions, Kevin began babbling about the game in an attempt to drown the threat of tension with words. Luckily enough, it worked. For now. 

Now that he thought about it, the rookies match being the bloodiest made sense - it was where dynamics evolved most, like a fragile tower of cards ready to crumble at any moment. The rookies gave everything to climb as the lowest sophomores did their best to stomp on fingers and make them trip. From his unreachable tower, the Raven King laughed at it all. 

Jean was not amused, but he might be slightly impressed : in spite of her harmed body, Mazzira was remarkable on court. Mind you, against the better half of the team she would get rolled over, but at the moment the opposite strikers struggled to pass by her, she was a good assist to her offensive line and mostly, she made Kutcher’s life a living hell. Jean had a certain talent for assessing people’s motives and mentality, their strengths and weaknesses and their average rank but he had to admit he might have underestimated the dealer. He had been fooled by her genuine kindness, had considered it a given when it might have been a choice and forgot that delicate did not mean fragile. 

She was everything but fragile as she knocked her racquet in Kutcher’s nose when he tried for the third time to wreck her right side first against plexiglass. That finished him off in an instant - he fell on his knees, screaming in pain and blood all over his face. From benches further behind on his right, Jean could hear a victorious _YES!_ coming from Brooke and he did not need to look back to feel the weight of her stare on him. 

Kevin winced in sympathy but Jean did not. He had deserved it. Mazzira seemed to tell him something, then turned away to her place on the line, leaving a stumbling Kutcher to carry himself out of court alone. The Master motioned Austin to replace him as his partner brought Kutcher a towel for the blood. They both went to the nurse and Jean figured he would not play for a moment. Good riddance. 

From their side of court while Austin got ready, Astrid seemed to check on Mazzira. Then she grabbed Mazzi's racquet, inspected it and weirdly enough cleansed the blood off with her arm. 

"That's disgusting," Kevin wrinkled his nose. 

The girls smacked their racquets together and went back into position. The game resumed and even though it still was kind of a mess, each player slowly found their role. Both goalies did better at leading their defensive line and dealers at their offensive one. At some point Astrid confronted Lillian, grabbed him by his jersey and moved her racquet around in anger after he shied away from Wilson for the fourth time. The next time he went for the goal, he rushed in and scored. Good. 

On the other side, Astrid did well on her mission to fuck up Lorenzo. No matter how many times he tried she always got in his face, replied to tricks with nastier of her own, dodged every one of his side steps to the point that he gave up on scoring entirely and passed the ball to Morel to do all the work instead. Morel and Penner were used to each other's playing style as they often faced each other for scrimmages, making it a close tie, except Austin was moving towards offense as well, making it harder to hold it. They managed thanks to the oldest goalie, but it was becoming difficult.

"Mazzira should go back to defense," Kevin commented. "They're struggling too much against Morel and Austin." 

He didn't have time to finish his sentence as the dealer did exactly that. 

"Good call," Kevin hummed. "Ugh what is that stupid asshole doing now," he groaned. “He is so damn useless.”

Penner did not appreciate at all having two rookies step all over his turf, thus he tried to deal with everything by himself. 

"He's offended," Jean supplied. "Won't cooperate. And he wants starting line," he mocked. 

"They'll lose if he continues like this. He can't defend alone," Kevin scrunched his nose in disgust, as if losing tasted bitter on his tongue.

Frustration slowly crawled its way and cleared the path for even more violence. Mazzira and Astrid forcefully took their place on the backline even if Penner did his best to not let it happen which resulted in him being outshined, clearly. They might be inexperienced but their communication was enough to make up for it. 

Austin intended to hurt Mazzira and Lillian by every means while Astrid acted on her words to break Lorenzo - Wilson was out of reach and Kutcher already taken care of so only the striker remained. They might have won on a three to two fight the night before but on court it was a whole other story. Astrid was powerful and burning everyone on her path, massive in spite of her short size, a careless Fury provoking a rain of dangerous body checks. The risks even for her were too high, which was inherently stupid but somehow it remained efficient. It would be a surprise if the opposite offense did not end with concussions and limps, plural.

In the middle and to everyone's surprise, Mazzira managed to hold her ground against a brutal Austin as well. She pushed too hard and once adrenaline wore off Jean was pretty sure she would crumble but for now, spite and sheer determination seemed to be enough. She used her outstanding flexibility to her advantage to dodge the worst hits and a precise footwork to mess with her opponents in both offense and defense. She also specialized in clear-cut tricks to trap her marks and get the ball back to send to her strikers like a damn Witch. With enough effort she would climb fast and Kevin hums of approval next to him confirmed it - they could both end in the upper half of the team within a year or two. 

8 - 7 for the girls' team. A close tie, maybe, but still a win. It had cost them though : by the end of the game, Mazzira fought back tears and could barely stand up. Austin and Morel had done their best to get rid of her, then had targeted Astrid to teach them a lesson. The dealer struggled to hold onto Brooke and flinched at the barest touch around her ribs, kindness of Austin’s brutal body checks. As for the backliner, Jean could almost hear her grinding teeth from the bench, she clenched her jaw that much. He could also grasp a sore shoulder and fucked up hip - she held on it in a casual way but Jean was not fooled.

When Astrid came out of the court Jean offered her a fresh water bottle and a towel, for once. She was drenched in sweat and still fought to catch her breath but it wasn't enough to get her out of her daze : a concussed Lorenzo and an exhausted Wilson both limped towards the nearest bench and a frown hollowed her face, as if she did not consider the job done yet. 

"Astrid." 

Her attention snapped back to him then his hands, and she snatched the bottle to drain it pretty fast. 

"Thanks," she exhaled after a moment as she brushed sweat off her forehead with her arm. He caught her hands shaking.

"Your arm," Jean handed the towel so she could dry off the blood. "You smudged it on your face," he added before she'd drop the cloth. 

She cleaned her skin and let her face rest in the soft comfy towel for a few seconds with a heavy sigh. Ravens were gathering around for the meeting though, so she groaned and let it go.

Everyone got their fair share of critics. Imani listed the dealers' mistakes mercilessly, Lee took care of the goalies as Jean added here and there how to better guide the backline from his perspective. Kevin dragged down the entire bunch but was kind enough to let Jean take care of Penner - a silent offering to shine back into Riko’s eyes. Jean would take every opportunity.

"You were pathetic," Jean started as he bore into Penner. "You are supposed to be the most experienced backliner out there but you did not act like it, Dimitri did a way better job at leading and assisting Wilson. You, on the other hand, got overcrowded by both Austin and Morel in offense but instead of welcoming your dealer's help in defense you just denied it. You acted like a petulant child having a tantrum and you dragged your backline down when the three of you could have managed if only you had cooperated and coordinated them. You can thank both your goalie and inexperienced dealer for leading that mess and your second backliner for actually doing her job on her side, else you would have lost and it would have been on you."

"They were too low to handle Austin," Penner argued. 

"Well it looks like they did just that," Jean cut in an icy tone. "They are underskilled, it does not mean they cannot communicate. Which you would have known if only you had cared enough to listen. You are supposed to win, remember? But you only tore the team down." 

A quick glance to their captain made Jean think that _maybe_ , just maybe, he was satisfied. Kevin's analysis followed so Jean tuned him out. Not that he did not care but he already had it all on the bench and he was most interested in assessing every Raven. Tension seemed to have dried out with sweat and he wondered if he could breathe again. 

The Master sent Wong and Da Silva to clean the court and everyone else to shower. For a moment he’d feared he would be on duty, but he actually had been good today even if Riko had not appreciated it and Astrid had nailed her job too. Jean followed the others in a hast but slowed down when he noticed Astrid would not hurry. Or rather, she couldn’t. He sighed and looked back at the girls. For once he decided to bite the bullet and waited in silence.

“I’m growing tired of you damn snowflakes,” Jenkins warned next to the rookies.

Mazzira sat on a bench and cried in silence as Jenkins loomed over her, fists on her hips. Jenkins eyerolled.

“Stand up,” she ordered.

“Hey,” Astrid stepped forward, about to protest for the dealer.

“You, shut up. I said, stand up. Now.”

Mazzira clenched her teeth but pushed on her hands to do so - when she stumbled, Astrid caught her forearm before she’d fall and held on. Her face constricted in pain but she did not complain and pulled Mazzi back on her feet. Jean did not like it. 

“I’ll just help her,” Astrid said.

“Right, so you two can fall and break all over the floor, wonderful idea,” Jenkins smiled full of scorn. “Mind your business, Moreau’s waiting.”

With that, Jenkins put Mazzira’s arm around her neck and lowered enough to slide a hand under the rookie’s knees ; when she rose up Mazzira looked mostly stable in her arms and Brooke walked off without breaking a sweat.

“Savor it ‘cause it’ll never happen again for fuck’s sake,” Jenkins muttered. “Fuck rookies I swear.”

Jean huffed. Yeah. That was pretty much typical Jenkins behavior. He focused back on Astrid.

“You shouldn’t go on such risky checks,” he said.

“It worked just fine,” she grumbled.

“I doubt your shoulder and hip agree. And sides, probably. And your blown off arms. Should I go on ?”

“Gngngn,” she grimaced. 

“Very mature.”

“It’s not just that game it’s the entire shitshow. Can we leave now ?”

“I’m not carrying you,” he warned her when she did not move.

“I’d rather crawl in the mud,” she made a face half disgusted half disdain before she finally joined him. 

Slowly, but still. She walked at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, too, want to be carried by a grumpy hot Brooke Jenkins  
> I hope you liked it ! I feel like a lot AND nothing happened at the same time ?? I don't know ?? Anyway Imma speed to classes now because it will allow more interactions/plot/drama/pacing, I think we got enough of the first month of Ravens trying to grow new dynamics, let's just move on
> 
> For the update ! Expect it in two weeks I think. I'll probably write more than one chapter but it will help me pace it better if I have more planned ahead before posting. Also I need to work a lot so, two weeks means less pressure for me too
> 
> Oh and I couldn't add it there but the blood on her racquet bothered Mazzira and Astrid didn't give a single fuck so she just. Wiped it out. Power move.  
> And Mazzira told Kutcher something along the line of "If you're not playing nice I won't either." because she is a Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Who missed our French bastard ? I sure DID. Look I'm French and you WILL eat it up a lot. I'm not sorry.
> 
> You can scream at me on my Tumblr, name's youdrunkasshole
> 
> Lemme know if you need additional tags !
> 
> EDIT OCTOBER THE 31ST : I'm still here, I still love this story, I still plan to finish it, 2020 is just sucking up all my energy and I can barely write small parts for now. So I'm resting and try to not get too stressed by the entire shit show that is 2020. Take care of yourselves I wish you the best and see you soon with bad bitches and fanarts !


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